Geijutsu
by Mustsleep
Summary: Given prompt: DeidaraxHinata. AU. The sorrow of the song lured him to the room, but it was the woman who entrapped his soul with her art.


_I've finally tried stepping out of my ItaXSaku puddle...and I'm going jump back in. __I probably should have looked into this particular fandom, but it was also interesting to have a clean slate. After all, I read ItaSaku for years before actually writing one... _

_I couldn't do an AU Naruto Verse for this couple (sorryz), but I hope you enjoy some feudal lord era stuff(totally overdone, cliche, yup I know.) Incorporating all the research I did was a lot of fun. Though I couldn't figure out what was served for morning meals…ugh. Oh, and I'll apologize now for anything I did get wrong. _

_Thank you Aisa Haruka, Deidara x Hinata was an interesting prompt and a challenge to write. _

_To all of the rest, thank you for taking the time to read my work. I would appreciate any feedback you have. _

_Z.z_

_p.s. those of you expecting any heavy romance at all have clicked on the wrong link... and obviously you haven't read any of my other works. _

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Geijutsu

The sweet sound of the shamisen filled the air of the small dining room. Her long fingers were agile, dancing upon the neck of the instrument; the skill of the young woman's ear evident in the perfect pitch. The song ended on a melancholy note on the lowest string. The timbre resonated for several moments before silence overtook it.

She looked up, wiping black hair from her face, only to stare upon an empty room. The low table was before her; the cushions empty of guests. The wood floors gleamed with polish and the mats, free of dirt. She breathed in, taking a deep breath before letting it out. Soon the day would begin. Dawn had not yet truly broken over the mountain, but soon the gleaming orb of morning would emerge. With its emergence she would have to dawn her smile, dawn a white collar, dawn a heavy burdensome kimono. She let out a long sigh before putting her fingers back to the silk strings. It became more difficult in the heat to play well, but she had to. She had to play perfectly. Of course, it did not stop her imagination. Playing was already a freedom; without the makeup, the tangling material, the stress of perfection she would fly.

She played another song, this time a well-known tune that would likely be requested by the end of the day. The song was simple compared to what she had previously been playing. She barely had to think at all about where her fingers went. She knew the song; she would know it forever. It was almost boring though, so dull in comparison as to what she could do. But it was what the house wanted; it was what her sisters wanted, so that is what she would give.

"I like the other song better, un."

Her fingers froze and she looked to the door. A man stood in the doorway, looking at her without her professional clothes, without her hair being combed and more importantly without her makeup. Under the makeup she was someone else; she felt powerful and hidden. Behind the thick mask she could be anyone; she didn't have to be herself. But now there was nothing hiding her, the real her; she was before this man, exposed as she truly was. Everything she'd overcome now stood before her. It was as if she was eight again, her father pushing her towards the doorway of this house, telling her that this would be the only place that would accept a girl as weak as her. She remembered fumbling her words, receiving her mother's harsh slap and rebuke. Then to the side there was her real little sister, who was much prettier and wittier than she could ever hope to become. Then there was that night, the night she said the wrong thing to the wrong man and it cost her everything.

She closed her eyes to gain control over the emotions and imagery. Opening them, she focused on the man at hand, her pulse quickening at the thought of how she looked. "We haven't-t o-o-pened yet s-s-ir," she said, her voice stuttering just like she was a child again.

The man brushed the long, gold bangs back and away from his left eye, revealing a black patch. His one blue eye gave her a wink. "Well, I was hoping you would make an exception, un." He pulled out several coins and held them in his hand. "I've been traveling for some time and need some food, not so much the entertainment, hm."

Her eyes looked at the money with some surprise, for it was a lot. She would be a fool to turn him away, but she was no cook and the only things available for her and her sisters was some millet and dried bonito. Later, when the owner of the house awoke and customers came would better food be prepared. She wasn't trained to cook. She dipped her head, "Th-there is onl-ly mil-let and bo-onito."

He blinked and gave a shrug, "I really don't care what the food is. I guess I'll also pay for tea and your entertainment, hm."

She wasn't even dressed or ready. "B-b-"

"You're too professional on the instrument to be a maiko; I assume you can entertain, no?" He walked in then, his tachi and wakizashi now visible to her.

She bowed her head and set her instrument to the side, and stood, ready to get him a meal and drink. She wondered from which providence the samurai came from, which lord did he serve?

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Aika," she replied dutifully.

He laughed slightly and she had no wonder as to why. She laughed quietly too. There was no reason not to, for it was very funny. For a name that meant to sing, it seemed ill-fitted, especially at her stuttering. Her older sister, her teacher, had given the name to her in honor of her overcoming her past. "No, your real name. The name you had before you came to this house. What was it, hm?"

"H-inata, although I ha-ave no surname," she didn't; she'd been a disgrace to her clan and she would never tell anyone where she belonged. Only the owner knew and she wouldn't dare tell any soul in fear of what the clan would do to her. She was far enough away so that she wouldn't be recognized offhanded, but she still feared what they would do to her if someone were to speak her name in her father's presence. A different perfection was needed back home, and she had failed to achieve such perfection on so many accounts.

"I am Deidara, un." He sat then, folding his legs underneath him and positioning his blades so that they were comfortable and reachable.

She knew the name. He was very important and she was relieved she hadn't turned him away. He was one of the top guards of the daimyo in the neighboring province. The daimyo was called Sasori of the Red Sand, for it was said the man laid to waste an army in the thick of such heat that their blood turned sand like, dry and brittle, so much that the land looked like a desert. The samurai before her played a major role in the battle, leading the men in the first charge. Her years of training seemed to return to her at such a realization and at the pressure to perform before such an important audience. It was as if the mask of make-up was upon her. She smiled, "It is my pleasure to serve you Deidara."

She dipped her head and left the room, stilling herself for what she had to do. She brought him what he asked and sat beside him. With her nerves calmer she stuttered less often and made less mistakes. She entertained him with her knowledge of battle, fighting styles and tactics. He seemed both surprised and delighted at her ability to hold such a conversation. Most of her knowledge came from her once clan, but she'd learned more by listening to other samurai that had come to the house. Eventually she had him laughing at a witty joke she'd practiced for months. It was always a pleasure to see her customers relax; it meant she was successfully doing her job.

"Please play your first song for me, yeah," he finally said, motioning to the shamisen.

"I don't remember," she told him honestly, although somewhat fearing his wrath. She was supposed to deliver to her customers; she was supposed to be able to please them. She tried to explain, "The music comes out differently each time when I practice. I do not memorize what I do then. There are some songs I do know though, if you would like to hear them-"

He raised his hand stopping her mid-sentence. "You are true geisha, un. True art and beauty is both an outburst of passion and fleeting. Leaving your listeners in such unquenchable yearning proves you are indeed a master. I do not wish to hear known songs; I would like to listen to true art. True fleeting, passionate art-yeah."

She smiled and stood, picking of the shamisen and sitting before him. His words inspired her, probably as his words inspired his men. The silk felt perfect on her fingers, and a smile graced her lips. With her music exhilarating her, she played with such passion that even the man before her felt the emotion of the piece. There was joy; there was sorrow; there was anger and there was love; it was, in a much simpler sense, life.

At the end of her song she lowered the instrument, and looked up at her guest. His smirk had widened and his blue eye glowed brightly. "You must be named Aika for a reason..."

"Would you like me to sing?" she questioned.

"Very much."

So she sang and played. Her voice soft and gentle, barely overcoming the sound of the instrument at certain times; in others her quiet voice rose to a swell, harmonizing with music she played. He listened to her,

And such was the day when the main-branch member of the Hyuga clan, Hinata, met with Deidara of Suna. It was not in the midst of the war parlor in the Hyuga manor, with the samurai under the impression he was to be offered the hand of the 'eldest' daughter Hanabi, like most believe. The man was not disillusioned, for one might say he planned out exactly how the events of that day were to unfold.

Of course, this was not to tell of the great peace treaty between the provinces of Suna and Leaf, but merely to give a prologue on what started the first course of events that set the treaty in motion.


End file.
